


Head Over Cleats

by Frea_O



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Background Relationships, Coaches, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Football | Soccer, Red Beauty - Freeform, Sleeping Warrior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5038396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frea_O/pseuds/Frea_O
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara Lance is obsessed with two things: how gay everybody on the Star City Justice is, and finding out if her sister is in love with the assistant coach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Over Cleats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaleidoscope_Carousel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaleidoscope_Carousel/gifts).



> This is a birthday fic for my friend Kaleidoscopes and Carousels! Sorry to the other fandoms I tagged: it's primarily _Arrow_ , with some _Once Upon a Time_ for flavor. And I totally forgot to thank the wonderful [andymcnope](http://christinenairns.tumblr.com/) in my Tumblr post last night, but she really did come up with ALL of the playing style analysis and totally save my butt. I put Shaw and Root in there for her.

_**Love in the time of soccer.** _

“You ever think our team isn’t normal?”

Nyssa sets her water bottle down by the goal post and follows Sara’s eye-line to the other midfielders. Any second now, Shaw will throw a punch and send them into another round in the bleachers, and Root will only laugh. Nyssa might not mind except that her knee is bothering her and she’s hoping to get out of practice a little early to spend some time on her hair.

“We play a professional sport in a league that pays less than most janitorial work,” Laurel, who’s juggling the ball back and forth with Mulan, says. “Normal is for other people.”

Nyssa punches the ball away when Laurel tries to knock it into the goal. “I like our dynamic.”

“Our incredibly gay dynamic?” Sara says. “Because that’s what I mean. We’re gay. That should be a new chant for our fans. We’re here, we’re queer, now grab your beer, and maybe cheer—”

Mulan helpfully kicks the ball at Sara to shut her up. The midfielder side-steps, but Mulan’s expression never changes. Everybody else on defense is known to blow a fuse once or twice (or seven times a game, if you’re Helena), but Mulan’s main skill is to remain placid, stoic, badass.

Until, of course, you bring up a certain media intern. Sara claims the blushing and stammering is cute. Nyssa’s only glad that Mulan doesn’t do it in the middle of the game.

“Not everybody on the team is gay,” Laurel says. “Helena—”

“Totally experimented in college.”

“Thea—”

“Too young to have figured out she’s in love with you, but we all think it’s adorable.”

“Shut up. Shado—”

“Only a matter of time.”

“Octavia—”

“Gonna wake up one day and realize she really wants to bang Thea.”

Nyssa and Mulan exchange a look. The Lance sisters, Canada’s greatest weapon in the World Cup, are unstoppable. Without Laurel to take the heavy hits, Nyssa’s job would be ten times more difficult. And Sara’s hat trick for Canada alone will keep her in the record books for ages. They’re brutal, unrelenting, and merciless, but what most people don’t know is that you will never get them to stop arguing. It’s why the only ones excited when Sara Lance was traded to the Justice…were the fans. And Nyssa.

Some days Laurel.

But mostly the fans. Who don’t have to attend practice.

“Shut up,” Laurel says again. “Octavia is with that guy on the Puerto Rican team, the really cute one—what’s his face—”

“Does that even fit on a jersey?” Sara asks.

Twenty seconds later, Nyssa wades in, pulling Sara out of Laurel’s headlock. “Sara, go see to your line. Coach is going to come back any moment and make us do bleacher runs and I have no wish to stay late.”

“Because somebody’s got a very gay da-a-a-a-te,” Sara sing-songs as she jogs off.

Laurel and Mulan swivel to look at Nyssa.

Nyssa shrugs. “She’s not wrong,” is all she says, and heads over to talk to the other keepers.

~ * ~

If the league—or even just the Justice—ever instates rules about fraternization between players rather than just coaches and players, Laurel thinks as she trudges down the hall, they’re all screwed. Or, more to the point, _not_ screwed because the sex lives of half the team would be cut off. But on the other hand, that might not be such a bad thing. It would mean she’d be in her own bed instead of trying to drown out the noises from next door. She’s happy her sister has found somebody, but she really wishes they’d go to Nyssa’s place.

She knocks on 2A’s door. There’s a curse inside, followed by shuffling. A few seconds later, Felicity pulls the door open. She’s wearing pajamas and she looks like some kind of adorable model, whereas Laurel’s in an old jersey and track pants that she’ll wear for weight lifting. God, she’s cute. She blinks at Laurel several times. “Date night?” she asks.

“Yup. And weight lifting is in…” Laurel looks at her bare wrist and shakes her head. “Too soon, whenever it is.”

Felicity wordlessly steps to the side. “Are they really that loud?”

“Sara is.” Laurel flops face-first onto the couch. “Nyssa has her moments.”

“Really?” Felicity draws the word out and goes back to the chair she’d obviously vacated to answer the door. There’s a probably-forgotten mug of tea, her tablet, and the remnants of a microwaved dinner gathered around. “I always pictured Nyssa as one of those sexual silent types. You know, doesn’t even grunt. She, like, sheds a single tear when she comes.”

“Oh, no, she grunts.” The pillows smell like lavender. Laurel’s already mostly asleep. This couch is like her second home. She’s already made her peace with the fact that she will never see Felicity’s bedroom. “She’s louder than Sara sometimes.”

“Is it like breathy or is it screaming or—wow, I am way too invested in this. It’s such a disconnect in my brain. She’s always got that stoic badass stare. It’s hard to imagine her in bed.”

“Felicity.”

“Hmm?”

Laurel pushes her face into the pillow. It muffles her words, but she doesn’t care. “I don’t want to think about Nyssa in bed because the person Nyssa is in bed with is my sister. And the reason I am here is to escape thinking about Nyssa. And my sister. In bed.”

“That’s a…good point. I’ll stop talking about it. Want me to read off some of the stats I’ve been going over, to really bore you to sleep?”

“Sure,” Laurel says, slipping under before Felicity finishes the first line.

~ * ~

Sara finds the note taped to a bottle of Powerade and snickers as she finishes her banana. By all rights, she should be exhausted, but marathon sex makes her feel like she could take on every team in the league and walk away with a handful of hat tricks. She does a little booty-shake as she drops the banana peel in the trash can.

“Check it out,” she says, holding up the note as Nyssa strolls in, stretching out her shoulder. “We scared Laurel away again.”

She should be proud—they had some _really great_ sex—but Nyssa only frowns. “Is she angry?”

“The note says ‘you both suck,’ so I’m going with yes. She crawled in with Felicity. We did her a favor.”

Nyssa shakes her head. Sara always wonders how she can be one of the few hold-outs in the Laurel is not sleeping with the Justice’s assistant coach camp. “I fail to see how making her feel unwelcome in her own home is doing her a favor.”

“Because of us, she gets to spend more time with her girlfriend. That is the very definition of benevolence.”

“Sara,” Nyssa says, but Sara can tell she’s close to laughter. It takes her back to their days in Division I, when taking the bus up to Chapel Hill to see the sneer on their keeper’s face was one of the most exciting parts of her whole year. The sneer, the little lip curl. The raised eyebrow whenever Sara’s shots on goal missed. It should have been condescending. It was instead sexy as hell.

Thinking about it now makes her back Nyssa up against the refrigerator.

“And what do you intend to tell the others when we’re late?” Nyssa murmurs, but Sara notices she’s not exactly pushing her away.

“That I’m making sure their keeper gets her day off to a proper start, eh?” Sara nips at her jaw even as she brackets Nyssa’s hips with her palms. “It’s an important job, very necessary for team morale.”

“Mm-hmm,” Nyssa says, like she’s not buying it at all, but she kisses Sara back.

Unfortunately, not even a quick make-out session in the kitchen is enough to distract her girlfriend, which is why Sara’s tugging on her runners and following Nyssa out of her apartment less than ten minutes later. They round the corner in time to see Laurel, hair shoved under a grey beanie, ease Felicity’s apartment door closed.

Sara lets out a wolf whistle.

“Shut up, people are sleeping,” Laurel says. “Also, you both suck.”

“Yes, we got your note,” Nyssa says. “My apologies.”

“I’ll believe you’re sorry when you can tell me that without looking smug,” Laurel says, and Nyssa smiles.

“And how is Felicity this morning?” Sara asks as they tromp down to the front lobby together.

Laurel rolls her eyes. “How should I know? I slept on the couch.”

See? Nyssa’s look says.

Sara shakes her head. She’s sure Laurel is lying. There’s no way she can be a star defender on the gayest team in sports history and not be sleeping with the really cute, really talkative assistant coach who always talks even faster in her presence. There’s just no way.

~ * ~

Training picks up as their big match against the Central City Strike looms. Because Star City and Central City are the closest, connected by a high-speed train that cuts out the need for air travel or buses, they play each other the most often. A friendly rivalry has struck up, a mixture of on-field animosity and off-the-pitch camaraderie at various bars afterward. The Strike are a formidable team in exhibition games, but approaching playoff season they’re even worse.

That doesn’t stop Felicity from meeting the Strike staff the night before the game because she and Caitlin did their sports med courses together. By this point, it’s tradition. As are the beers. So much beer. All the beer.

At least Barry, the cute tall striker for the Lightning who was trying unsuccessfully to flirt with Caitlin’s reporter friend, walks her back to the hotel. He leaves her at the front door with a joking “Bad luck tomorrow, Smoak!” and she’s pretty sure she trash-talks back, but she can’t remember so it doesn’t matter. What’s more pressing is that she can’t remember her room number.

Felicity blinks at the numbers all around her. She’s good with numbers, which makes this horrible. There might have been a two. Or a seven. Wait, was it a seven? Or a nine?

Or was that how many beers she had? God, she has to pee.

She’ll figure out the room number in a second, Felicity thinks, and goes to Laurel’s room. It’s late, but Laurel’s knocked on her door much later. This is what friends are for, okay.

Helena answers the door in track pants and an old jersey. Felicity blinks until she remembers that Laurel and Helena always room together on the road. Right. Helena. There’s an obstacle she wasn’t expecting.

“Hey, Ass-Coach,” Helena says, resting a shoulder against the doorjamb. “You look…drunk.”

“Three sheets to the wind and going for four.” She sticks a finger in the air because she doesn’t get drunk unless there’s a lot of wine involved. Whatever. She’s proud of herself. “And don’t call me Ass-Coach. It’s assissss—asstita—ass—ugh, fine, Ass-Coach, that’s me. How are you still scary right now? You’re in pajamas. Why is that a talent you have? And why is it three sheets to the wind? Where did that phrase even come from?”

Helena snickers. “Laurel,” she calls over her shoulder.

Felicity brightens up when she hears the grumble. “I heard,” her friend says, and Laurel appears in an old Stanford Soccer tee. “Just how much have you had to drink?”

Felicity looks down at Laurel’s chest. “Eight,” she says.

“Is that the number of drinks or are you just reading my number?”

“Beers. Four beers. I think, and four shots. Eight. I’m not good with numbers right now, which is a problem because I can’t remember my room number.”

Laurel yawns and pushes her hair out of her face. “But you remembered mine?”

“Yup. Bathroom,” Felicity says. She rushes past Laurel and makes a beeline for it. Finally.

When she’s done washing her hands, she finds Laurel propped against the wall, head down like she’s asleep.

“I feel much better,” Felicity says, trying to whisper since the room is dark save for the square of light behind her.

Laurel still jerks. Oops. Maybe she really was asleep. “Okay,” Laurel says, yawning again. “Let’s go down to the front desk and find out where your room is.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“If I had to guess, that fourth shot.”

Felicity can’t walk a straight line, so Laurel pulls her arm over her shoulder and holds her waist as they go to the lobby. It’s nice. Laurel’s so solid. She doesn’t seem like she would be because she looks kind of spindly, but you get close and see all the tendons and you realize Laurel Lance could totally kick your ass. Not that she will, unless you’re the other team, and…where was she going with this? Felicity blinks muzzily. Oh, right, Laurel is solid.

And currently annoyed as she frowns at the very empty front desk. She rings the bell and Felicity whimpers because the sound echoes in her skull. But nothing happens, and nobody appears.

“All right,” Laurel says, walking them back to the elevator. “New plan. We’ll have to wake up super early so Coach doesn’t catch you, but you can crash with Helena and me. Or, well, with me since I’m pretty sure Helena might shank you.”

“I’m not the only one who finds her scary! I knew it!”

In the elevator, Felicity wobbles into the wall, so Laurel changes her grip to keep her upright. Felicity can’t stop the giggles that erupt out of her. Laurel shushes her, but she only laughs harder, so Laurel covers Felicity’s mouth with her hand. Which is when the elevator doors open and they see Sara and Nyssa.

“Ha!” Sara says after the silence has stretched on for, like, ever. She elbows Nyssa. “I told you so!”

“Told her what?” Felicity says around Laurel’s fingers. It comes out a mumbled mass of syllables. She hiccups.

Laurel just sighs. “I swear this isn’t what it looks like.”

~ * ~

They lose to the Strike, even though it’s close. Their defensive line can’t seem to gel, and Nyssa has a hard day of blocking far too many on-goal shots.

Laurel trips up a tackle and sends a Strike forward tumbling head over cleats. She storms away from the yellow card the ref holds up. The person Helena chooses to glare at is Felicity, who’s standing on the sideline, looking nauseated and contrite.

~ * ~

“I still think they’re together,” Sara says, flicking at the nylon exterior of her NormaTec kit. It’s her least favorite part of post-game recovery, Nyssa knows. It involves staying still, and Sara’s never been good with that. She fidgets like a small bird even in sleep.

Nyssa smiles at Sara’s bright hair, which is has caught a beam of sunshine and is positively glowing. Her yellow bird, she thinks.

“Does it matter if they are together or not?” Nyssa asks as Sara changes channels in irritation.

“Of course it matters. After all of the crap Laurel gave me for trying to flirt with you before you finally caved and asked me to dinner—”

“Is that how it happened?” Nyssa asks, looking up from her magazine. “I seem to recall you swaggering in and saying ‘you’re taking me out, al Ghul, and I’ll rock your world lat—’”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Sara says, looking a little pink around the cheekbones, “as I was saying, after all the crap she gave me, I was hoping for payback, you know? She’s always dated soccer players, it’s time she found a new type.”

“An assistant coach?”

“Who doesn’t play soccer. A step in the right—and also cute and babbly—direction, if you ask me. Remember when she was with Ollie? That was the worst. Everybody kept talking soccer domination and how their kids would come out already dribbling soccer balls, which makes me glad we’re now on the gayest team in the league. No dating the men’s team.”

“Thomas Merlyn was not that terrible,” Nyssa says.

“Tommy wasn’t that bad, yeah. If you’re into insecure douches.”

“Luckily for both of us, I am not,” Nyssa says.

“Aw.” Sara leans over as far as she can with her legs encased in the giant sleeves, and presses a kiss to the corner of Nyssa’s mouth.

“And you’re perhaps a bit harsh on Merlyn.”

“Sister’s prerogative. If he wanted me to be nice to him, he shouldn’t have dumped my sister because he was too insecure to—”

“Sara,” Nyssa says.

“Oh fine.” Sara makes a face at her. When the timer beeps, she fist-pumps and zips her way out of the leg sleeves. She doesn’t do a jig, but it’s close. Instead, she dives at Nyssa, pinning her back against the couch. Nyssa laughs and worms her hands under Sara’s shirt. Hopefully none of their Instagram-happy teammates are around. Their relationship is the league’s strangest open secret.

Not even two minutes later, Laurel sticks her head into the rec room. “Again?” she says, making a face. “Whatever, you two. Break it up, and let’s go put on our shortest dresses. We’re going out.”

“What?” Sara lifts her head so that her hair gets in Nyssa’s face. She bats at it irritably. “Why?”

“Because it has been too long since I got laid. I’m getting Ruby and Shado. Ruby needs to stop mooning over an accountant, of all things.”

“Hey, she’s really cute—for a woman who keeps the books,” Sara says. “Are you inviting Felicity?”

“She’s got a coaching meeting,” Laurel says. “Quit making out with your girlfriend at work and go get cute. I need wing-women, but I can’t find any of those around here, so you two will have to do.”

“Your sister really adores me,” Nyssa says after Laurel’s left, and Sara loses it, collapsing in a giggly fit on top of her. Nyssa only chuckles and holds on.

~ * ~

They do their best. Sara makes Nyssa dance, Laurel gets the number for a cute guy named Adam, and Ruby drinks them all under the table. The first date is promising. The second ends with Laurel storming past Nyssa and Sara on the couch and going straight for the Ben & Jerry’s.

“If it were Felicity, she’d at least have somebody to share the ice cream with,” Sara murmurs.

“Shh.”

“Just saying.”

~ * ~

Their next away game is in Storybrooke, a place that gives Felicity the creeps because the weather never changes. Ever. Star City’s doesn’t either, but that’s explained by weather fronts or something. Storybrooke doesn’t have that excuse. Anyway, she doesn’t have any old college buddies in this town, so she’s definitely not in for a humiliating repeat of what happened in Central City, when she kind of sabotaged one of her star defenders with her own drunkenness.

Laurel says that’s not what happened, but Helena was all too happy to fill Felicity in on every detail. Up to and including the fact that spooning was involved. Felicity has no idea if she was telling the truth, but there’s no way in hell she’s going to ask Laurel about it.

Storybrooke, in addition to having the weirdest named team—the Retro Continental—is home to two of the Justice’s members and some of the staff, so the bus is extra-full. Felicity usually sits by Clarke the trainer, but Belle’s already grabbed that spot. She makes her way to the back and when Laurel pulls her bag off of the empty seat next to her, Felicity can’t turn down the invitation.

“Full disclosure,” Laurel says, “you’re going to be my pillow. Nyssa has officially moved in.”

“You know my couch is open any time you need it,” Felicity says, since she enjoys having Laurel around in the mornings. When she doesn’t have pre-breakfast weight training, she makes coffee and breakfast. Felicity’s a hopeless cook. “I should give you a key, honestly.”

“What if I interrupt something?” Laurel asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Trust me, there’s nothing to interrupt except me working my way through a lot of mint-chip.”

Laurel opens her mouth to say something, apparently decides against it, and shakes her head. “I’d be okay with that, but only if you share.”

“Deal.”

Felicity swears she hears a cough from the seat behind them, but when she looks back, Sara’s innocently reading a copy of _Flex_ magazine. Nyssa raises her eyebrows at Felicity.

Laurel falls asleep on Felicity’s shoulder and sleeps through Thea getting down in the aisle to _Dancing Queen_ (Octavia cuffs her on the back of the head), a debate between Felicity and Root about firewalls, and Raven teaching the team a trash-talking chant from Auburn. It’s nice. Laurel’s hair smells like apricot and she cuddles closer the longer the trip goes on, legs tucked under her and arm flung across Felicity’s middle. Sara puts their picture on her Instagram with the caption “Our coaches are VERY supportive! #SmoakLancePillow2k15”

“Laurel might murder you,” Felicity says.

“Worth it!” Sara drops back into her seat.

Laurel wakes up because her phone keeps chirping. Felicity tried to turn it off after the first time, but Laurel has a death grip on it. Laurel stretches out, groaning in a very interesting way—Felicity looks at the ceiling—and checks her phone. “Why am I getting a lot of mentions tagged with ‘SmoakLance?’”

“Three guesses and the first two aren’t Sara,” Felicity says, her heart beating hard in her chest for some reason. She can’t read Laurel’s expression, but she desperately wants to.

“Mm,” is Laurel’s only answer, and Felicity looks up again to hide her disappointed look. Laurel stretches again. “Are we almost there? I’m actually excited for this game. I can’t wait to see what disappointments the Storybrooke Ret-Con has in store for us this week.”

“You’re terrible,” Felicity says, giving her a shoulder a push, and Laurel beams in sleepy triumph.

~ * ~

Half the team is hungry when they get to Storybrooke, where they roll up the sidewalks before ten p.m. How they can afford a nice stadium and a soccer team, Sara has no idea. They don’t even have an all-night gas station.

Belle—who normally doesn’t travel with the team since she’s an accountant and not even full-time staff—finds her at the vending machines, debating between a Kit-Kat and peanut butter M&Ms. “Get some shoes on,” the Aussie says. “We’re getting food.”

“Everything is closed.”

“We’ve got a connection!” Belle says that in an excited way, but she says everything in an excited way, so Sara gamely shrugs, collects her shoes and her girlfriend, and troops down to meet everybody outside. Laurel’s not there, but Felicity is, as well as Ruby, Mulan, and their media intern Aurora. They walk down the sleepiest main street Sara has ever seen. At the diner, Ruby stops and pulls out a set of keys.

“Whoa, how’d you get those?”

“By growing up here,” Ruby says. “My granny owns this place. She won’t mind.”

“Dibs on my usual seat,” Belle says, heading straight for one of the booths near the back.

Sara’s the only one close enough to catch the look on Ruby’s face as the left wing watches her go. She opens her mouth to comment that Ruby should ask her out already, but Nyssa touches her wrist and shakes her head tightly.

“Why is everybody this team so stupid about romance?” she asks in an undertone as Ruby goes back to fire up the grill and Felicity takes a seat across from Belle.

Nyssa goes to the stools at the counter. “We were stupid once, too,” she says, picking up a menu.

“But we got smart fast.”

“Did we? I seem to recall years where you thought attempting to psych me out by way of penalty kicks was flirting.”

Sara laughs and hooks an arm around her neck to give her a kiss. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“That it did. You’re lucky I am just as contrary as you are. But many people thought we were stupid for taking so long. Your sister among them.”

“What does she know? She can’t even get into Felicity’s pants.”

Nyssa laughs through her nose. “That is indeed unfortunate.”

“Wait, are you agreeing with me? You’re always anti-Laurel and Felicity getting together.”

“No,” Nyssa says, flipping the menu over. “I merely point out that they are not together. Yet.”

“So you do think that’ll change, eh?”

“I do not know. As you said, everybody on this team is stupid about romance. Case in point.” Nyssa glances at the booth where Aurora is talking animatedly, gesticulating with broad movements. Across the booth, their typically stoic center-back watches her like a lovesick puppy.

“Gayest team in history,” Sara says under her breath. “Speaking of which—hey, Ruby, what’s a girl gotta do to get a burger around here?”

“You could start by passing to me instead of Octavia for once,” Ruby calls back from the grill.

~ * ~

Storybrooke’s always a special game. It’s the only one where both captains are more terrifying when they smile than when they look pissed off. Or that’s what Laurel assumes. She’s never seen Emma Swan smile.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t see Emma Swan coming, either.

~ * ~

Laurel can feel the pain meds swimming around, changing the dimensions of the exam room and making the world buckle at the edges. She doesn’t like it. She’s pretty sure she’d like the feeling of her left ankle even less, or the cut above her right eye. It’s cold comfort when all she can think is that _it all might be over_.

She looks down at her right hand and frowns. How long has Felicity been holding her hand? She would have liked to be more aware of that.

“Any news?” she ask.

Felicity checks her phone. “2-1, us,” she says. “Sara got a yellow fouling Swan and is apparently very lucky it’s not a red.”

“Probably should’ve been a red.” The cut over her eye isn’t even painful, but it’s twinging in time to her heartbeat and it’s distracting. “Should’ve been a red for Swan, too. What was she thinking, going after Nyssa? The goalie has the ball, you get out of the way. It’s not rocket science.”

“On the replays, it looks like she wasn’t able to stop in time. But hey,” and Felicity pats Laurel’s knee, “you and your head helped her with that.”

“Better me than Nyssa.” Laurel reaches up to probe at the cut on her forehead.

“Don’t,” Felicity says, catching her wrist.

Laurel doesn’t pull her hand away, but she does pout. “It feels weird. Like it’s huge, like swollen up like an egg.”

“It’s not that big.”

“Feels gigantic. I might be hideous and deformed for life now.”

Felicity snorts. “Yeah, right. You. Gorgeous Laurel—hideous and deformed. Uh-huh.”

Even on the pain meds, Laurel knows how to avoid reacting. She wants to preen. Felicity’s little slips in calling her gorgeous are some of her favorites. But she keeps her smile neutral. “I wasn’t actually fishing for compliments.”

“Lie down and try to relax. You’re putting stress on that leg by sitting the way you are.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” Laurel says because pain meds always make her petulant.

“I can, and I do. Sports medicine, remember?”

“And yet somehow you’re the assistant coach. I think you missed your calling.”

Felicity mutters something too indistinct for Laurel to make out, but before she can ask, Dr. Whale comes back in with the X-rays.

~ * ~

The team has to go three games without Laurel.

It gives them an opportunity to test out their newest player, at least. Everybody’s surprised when Kendra gels with Sara better than Laurel ever did, which puzzles Sara. Sure, she and Laurel grew up practicing together, but apart from the Canadian national team and high school, the Justice is their first time on the same team. And their playing style is too similar to be compatible at times. Kendra steps up and they shift their plays slightly to accommodate the new dynamic in their defense, and for the most part, it’s a success. They eke out a victory against Bludhaven in extra time, and battle their way to 1-0 against Silas thanks to a PK Octavia sinks into the opposite goal post.

When they take down the Madripoor Quake 3-1, Laurel remarks that maybe the team’s better off without her. Kendra looks a little panicked.

Laurel joins them in practice with Clarke watching her like a hawk, but her triumphant return to soccer is a pick-up game in a field with a bunch of the local kids. They’re challenged by an eight-year-old on their way back from dinner and of course Thea has to answer the dare.

Sara has a blast. It takes her back to being eight years old again, running after her big sister while Helena Wayne patiently guided them through technical drills at soccer camp. Their dad still has a picture of them with the Canadian soccer star—Sara missing a couple teeth, Laurel with her hair in a sideways ponytail—on the mantle. They play in jeans and runners, making sure that the kids keep the ball most of the time. Sara delights in pickpocketing the ball away from Laurel as many times as she can, just to be a brat.

Laurel bows out early and takes a seat on the side of the hill. Sara trots up to sit by her sister. “You okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just need to save some for practice so Felicity doesn’t find out I’ve been cheating on my rehab schedule. She’ll use her loud voice.”

“I knew it. I knew Felicity was the boss in your relationship.”

“For the thousandth time, Sara, there’s no relationship. Felicity’s our coach.”

“Our coach that wants in your pants.”

“Don’t be vulgar.”

Sara bumps her shoulder against Laurel’s. “Sorry, sis, that’s all I know how to be.”

Across the field, one of the shyer kids has made her way over to Nyssa, who crouches down and regards the girl. Sara watches Nyssa hold up her hands, palms out, and the little girl does the same. Nyssa adjusts her hands. Goalie lessons, Sara realizes. She tucks her chin on her knee, hugs her legs, and calls out advice to her team, but she keeps her eyes on Nyssa, who rolls the ball gently at the girl so she can jump on top of it. Anybody else might have done a little celebration, but Nyssa only nods. Sara can practically hear her say, “Now, again.”

She wants to melt.

“You have got it _bad_ ,” Laurel says, breaking Sara’s focus.

“Can you blame me?”

“No, it’s adorable but—holy shit.” Laurel swivels to look at Sara. “That’s it! That’s why you’ve been so focused on this thing with Felicity and me!”

Finally she admits there’s something happening there. Sara sits up, ready to never let her forget this ever.

But Laurel’s not done. “I get it now. It’s the Sara weirdness. Wow, how did I not see that before?”

“The what?”

“You get obsessive about the weirdest stuff when you’re really into somebody,” Laurel says, pointing at her. “You are totally gone for Nyssa. Like, we all thought it was a sex thing, but you are—oh my god, you’re smitten. You want to have that woman’s adopted babies.”

Sara splutters.

“Look at you, I just heard you say ‘Aw’ about her interacting with a kid. You don’t like kids.”

“Say that a little louder, will you?” Sara asks, looking down at the game happening below them.

“You’re blushing!”

“Shut up.” When Laurel laughs, Sara sighs. She’s been playing things close to the vest—which isn’t easy with Nyssa, who has a sense for when something is bothering her—but now is the time to come clean. She plucks at the grass. “I want to ask her to marry me.”

Laurel makes a noise inaudible to human ears, proof positive she’s been spending way too much time around Felicity. “Oh my god!”

“If you hug me right now, I will stab you,” Sara says before Laurel can tackle her.

“Oh, fine. Ruin my fun. Have you thought about how you’re going to propose? Have you talked to her about this? Can I be your maid of honor? I know it’s presumptuous to ask, but I did assist you on that second goal against Germany, and that earns me serious brownie points. Plus, only sister and all. Wow, look at you, all grown up and proposing to the girl of your dreams.”

“I hate you,” Sara says without rancor. “And no, you can’t be my maid of honor because I haven’t even proposed yet. She’ll probably say no.”

“What? Why would she do that?”

“Her dad. He’s not—he’s not entirely against the fact that she’s a lesbian, but… What if he disowns her because she marries me?” Sara hunches. Nyssa’s father runs one of the largest companies in the middle east. It was intimidating to go home with her last off-season. She understands where Nyssa gets her quiet reserve from, but until seeing the actual mansion Nyssa had grown up in, Sara hadn’t understood that she was flirting with and then dating an actual princess. An actual princess who lives on a soccer playing salary in a crappy apartment with her and her sister. “She doesn’t take any money from him now, but I don’t want to be the reason he cuts that option off entirely.”

“Hmm,” Laurel says. “That sounds like something you should talk to her about. But honestly? I bet she doesn’t care.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I have eyes and I see the way she looks at you.”

Sara calls out to her team to pass the ball more and shakes her head. In for a penny, she thinks. “I’ve been wanting to ask her for a while, but the dad thing kind of held me back.”

Laurel tilts her head the way she always does when she’s deep in thought. “If she says yes, I’m the maid of honor, right?”

“Fine. Yes. If she agrees to get cut off from her bajillionaire father and live the humble life with a pro soccer player who has nothing but a pre-med degree to her name, you can totally be our maid of honor.”

“Perfect,” Laurel says. “Dare ya.”

Sara squints up at her. “What?”

“We win the playoffs, you get down on one knee and propose.”

“What?” Sara asks again, gawking at her sister. “Why would you do that? Why are you daring me?”

“Because obviously you’re too chicken to do it otherwise,” Laurel says, pushing herself to her feet.

Sara grabs her wrist before she can go. “Says the pot to the kettle. I can totally tell you’re into Felicity. Why haven’t _you_ made a move?”

The last thing she expects is for Laurel to go completely still in a way that warns of an oncoming hurricane. “Maybe,” Laurel says, “because she’s our coach and I don’t want to get her fired? You really need to drop it because no matter how much I want it, it’s never going to happen, okay? Move on. I’m trying to.”

Laurel gives her one pissed off look and jogs off, and Sara sits there in stunned silence for a full five minutes. How had she not noticed that? She’s not the only Lance sister in love.

She looks toward Nyssa, who’s gathered two or three more keeper hopefuls around her and is demonstrating how to dive for the ball. She hugs her legs to her chest, feeling so much lighter now that she’s shared the worries gnawing away at her mind for weeks. What would Nyssa say if she took Laurel’s dare? Is Laurel right? It might be nice to see the shock on Nyssa’s face if she took a knee after a win. But the Justice don’t have a shot in hell at winning the league playoffs, so she didn’t have a thing to worry about, really.

~ * ~

Laurel comes back with such a vengeance that it seems to rejuvenate the team. Two ties and one more win pulls them in the quarterfinals.

“You, uh, you had your Wheaties this morning, didn’t you?” Felicity asks as they head for the locker room at halftime.

Laurel runs her hand down her face. It’s unfair that she should positively glimmer. She should look like a wreck from all of the running and tackling she’s done. But all she does is peel her jersey away from her stomach and wipe her face with it, revealing sculpted abs. “I made a bet with Sara that we would win the playoffs,” she says, a little out of breath.

“What bet?” Felicity doesn’t stare at her abdomen. Much.

“Can’t say,” and Laurel ambles off to go hydrate.

When Felicity asks Sara about it in the next practice, Sara only shakes her head. “Can’t tell you. Sister code, Felicity.”

“Sisters before misters?” Felicity asks, confused. They’ve both been acting so strange this week.

“And coaches.”

~ * ~

Their game against the Annapolis Warriors in the semifinals nearly comes to fisticuffs. They edge out a win in the shoot-out and the entire team races onto the field, shouting and dancing so hard that none of them notice the sweeper for the Warriors head over to the Justice sideline with a determined look in her eye. Instead, they all find out via Facebook the next morning.

“Holy shit,” Sara says, pulling up Clarke’s status and shoving her phone toward Laurel and Felicity, on the other side of the booth at breakfast. She’s not sure how Clarke’s going to be able to lift her hand with a rock that big on her finger. “What did I say, right? Gayest team in the league! We’re so gay even our trainer is engaged to a woman. And…apparently moving to Maryland?”

Nyssa wonders why Felicity’s head jerks up at that.

~ * ~

Their final opponents are the Central City Strike, and Laurel and Helena are the last ones to make it in, as they missed the first train. The rest of the team’s been in Central City for two hours. In the greatest stroke of irony ever, they have the same room they had last time they stayed in this hotel.

“Hopefully minus the drunken Ass-Coach this time,” Helena mutters as she drops her duffel bag on the bed. She strips out of her shirt. “You never did tell her you stayed up all night watching her like a creeper and totally fucked up our entire game, did you?” 

“She was blackout drunk. I was not being creepy.” Though her playing had definitely been off the day after, she can’t deny that. It had been impossible to sleep next to a drunk and handsy Felicity. She would have had better luck if she’d slept in the desk chair, probably.

“Blackout drunk because she was drinking with the enemy,” Helena says in a sing-song voice. “Hurry up. Get dressed.”

Laurel pauses midway through unzipping her bag. “What?” They have a curfew.

“Our assistant coach cannot be trusted to police her own alcohol consumption so we’re going to help her out.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Laurel says. “Felicity can handle herself, and I’m not breaking curfew for that.”

An hour later, she curses herself for bringing nothing but sleeveless tops. It’s October, for crying out loud, and they’re outside what Helena swears is the bar where all the nerds hang out. How she even knows that, Laurel’s not even going to wonder. Once you accept core truths about Helena—she knows where to hide the bodies, she’s the best wing-back this side of the Mississippi, and that she just _knows_ things—your life becomes easier. At least Helena gave her time to look cute and a little girly. 

“Why are you doing this?” Laurel asks as she pulls open the door and walks in.

“I want a full night’s sleep. Also a beer.” Helena saunters for the back corner, and Laurel follows, studying the group as they cross the dark-paneled bar. Felicity’s hair makes her stand out—it’s down for once and she’s wearing a black strappy dress that leaves most of her back bare. And her legs, too, because the skirt is practically nonexistent.

That is a lot of skin.

Helena’s arm shoots out and keeps Laurel from stumbling into a table. “I did that for the good of the team, and because I didn’t have my camera ready,” she says when Laurel turns to her in confusion. Helena Bertinelli is not a benevolent soul. This is evidenced by the fact that she strides right up to the table full of support staff and shouts, “What up, nerds!”

“Oh, good,” somebody grumbles from the back corner, “the meatheads are here.”

Felicity freezes. She looks at Helena first and locks eyes with Laurel, and Laurel’s not sure what to do with the electric shiver that crawls down her spine or the quick look Felicity sneaks at her cleavage. She can’t blame her—this top does amazing things for her arms and her chest. “Wh-what are you doing here?” Felicity asks, and Laurel gets the feeling she’s asking Helena, but she never stops looking at Laurel.

“Last time,” Helena says, stealing a potato skin from the plate, “you hooligans got our assistant coach so drunk she forgot where her room was and crashed with us, keeping our esteemed defender up all night. So I am here to steal this beer—” She takes Felicity’s drink. “—and to let said esteemed defender get her back to her room in one piece. Ta, nerds.”

Felicity is definitely not looking at Laurel now.

“Wait, no, we were about to toast—” The Strike’s trainer waves frantically at Helena. “She needs that.”

Helena swivels on her heel. “What are we toasting?”

“Felicity’s new job. Do you not know?”

“I haven’t told the team yet,” Felicity says.

“You’re leaving?” Laurel asks, stomach dropping. It’s ridiculous to feel betrayal, as Felicity doesn’t owe her anything, but she has to swallow hard. “Are you going to Central City? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Felicity takes her beer back from Helena, who pouts. “I’m not leaving. I’m taking over Clarke’s job.”

“And we’re toasting to that,” the trainer—Caitlin, Laurel remembers, her name is Caitlin—says. She raises her glass. “Everybody? To Felicity, for finally getting back in the right field. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Laurel says, bumping her fist against Felicity’s glass. She’s becoming the trainer. Not somebody in a position of authority over her anymore. Laurel has to fight back a very sudden smile that she has no desire to explain to any of Felicity’s friends. She still leans close as Helena wanders off to go hustle some locals at darts. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Felicity says, almost prim now. She turns and shoves at the guy on her other side. “Scoot in, make room. Everybody, this is Laurel. Laurel, everybody. Um, Cisco and Caitlin and I were all in the Sports Med program at USC together, and you probably recognize Barry—that’s Iris, she’s great, but also everything Laurel says is _off the record_.”

The very pretty woman tucked in next to Cisco snaps her fingers, smiling. “I left the reporter hat at the office. I cheered for Canada during the Cup. You and Sara were my favorites.”

“Did everybody here call you a dirty rotten traitor?” Laurel asks as she slides into the booth.

“Just this one.” Iris pokes Barry.

There’s not much room, so Laurel presses up against Felicity. It makes her even more aware of how much the dress doesn’t cover, and her skin tingles wherever it brushes Felicity’s. She steals sips from Felicity’s beer and leans back, enjoying the conversation. She likes Felicity’s friends. Cisco is even more adorable than Felicity, which Laurel didn’t know was possible, and there’s an effortless camaraderie among the friends that tells her they meet up for nights out like this a lot. They still protest when Felicity and Laurel get up after the beer is finished.

“I know, I know,” Felicity says, dropping money on the table. “It’s early, but I’ve got a couple of curfew breakers to sneak in before Indra catches them and they get fined. Delinquents, all of them.”

Laurel shakes her fist at her. 

They collect Helena—and her winnings—and cab it back to the hotel, sneaking in the back. “You two need to get a room,” Helena announces out of the blue as they approach their hotel room. “But not this one. Good night.” She disappears inside, leaving awkwardness in her wake.

And it is awkward. Every barrier that was there before, that kept Laurel from acting like she wanted to around Felicity, is suddenly gone. She doesn’t have to hide her feelings anymore, and now she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She runs her hand through her hair. “Uh, so—congrats? On the new job. Did I say that already? I feel like I said that already.”

“You did.” Felicity rocks back on her heels and nibbles at her bottom lip.

“I didn’t know you were looking into a career change,” Laurel says, frowning. “But it makes sense, with your background and—”

“I had ulterior motives,” Felicity says in a rush. “You should know that. Not evil ones, but there was definitely—oh, god, I’m explaining this wrong, I can’t think of a way to put it that doesn’t put pressure on you, but I…” She flaps her hands helplessly. “I was really eager to get back into a training position for me because it’s what I like to do, but also because, well—I don’t want to be your coach anymore.”

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Laurel says, her breath catching in her throat.

Felicity takes a deep breath. “I like you. And I have no idea if you feel the same way, but on the microscopic chance that you maybe like me back—I mean, I think you do, I totally caught you checking out my ass earlier—”

Laurel can’t help it: she laughs, but it’s breathless and disbelieving. “Felicity,” she says, grabbing her hands. “I like you, too. I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”

“How do you have so many yellow cards when you’re such a straight-laced rule follower? God, you’re so cute.” Felicity steps forward and presses her lips to Laurel’s. It’s sweet, and perfect even though they’re in a cheap hotel corridor and somebody could walk out and find them at any second. Laurel doesn’t give a damn. Felicity’s lips are soft and this is everything she’s wanted for a long time.

Unfortunately, it’s over too soon, as Felicity jerks back. “No, wait, I can’t do that yet,” she says. “I’m still the assistant coach.”

“Win or lose, season’s over tomorrow,” Laurel says, smiling so hard that she can’t feel her face. 

Felicity smiles back. “So, tomorrow, then?”

“We should get dinner. No, wait, we’ll be celebrating with the team, we can’t do dinner tomorrow. Tuesday? Dinner?”

“It’s a date,” Felicity says, squeezing her hands. She takes a step back and lets go, but the smile never fades. “And don’t think I didn’t notice that bout of overconfidence just now, Miss Lance. We haven’t won yet.”

“We will. My sister’s future hangs in the balance.”

“Ah, right. This mysterious bet. Are you going to tell me what that is?”

“You’ll see tomorrow. When we win.”

“Guess I will.”

Laurel darts in before she can second-guess herself and gives Felicity a quick kiss, then heads back for her room. She’s not even sure her feet touch the floor. “Good night, Felicity.”

“Good night.”

In the room, she leans back against the door and bites her knuckle to hold back the squeak of delight. “You disgust me,” Helena calls from the bathroom.

“I have a date,” Laurel says, as she’s pretty sure nothing can top this feeling, not even beating the Strike in the playoffs.

Sixteen hours later, out of breath, bruised and maybe bleeding a little on her left shin, she listens to the ref blow the whistle three times and thinks that yes, she was definitely right. A win didn’t top the feeling, but it certainly doesn’t hurt. She wipes at the sweat on her forehead, grins at Felicity on the sideline and with a whoop, runs to tackle Mulan and the others in a giant victory pile.

~ * ~

Nyssa says yes before Sara’s knee even hits the ground.  



End file.
